


Broken (But Still Good)

by BatsAreFluffy



Series: Like tears in the rain [21]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Avoiding talking about feelings, Day 21: Chronic Pain, Gen, Hiding, The only human on the team means owie, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy
Summary: Bruce hissed out a breath he’d been holding, and let his arms fall to the ground. The underside of the Batmobile hid him well from anyone seeing how white he was, or the sweat on his brow. Just an hour, maybe less, and the vicodine will kick in. Maybe, if he was lucky, the others will have left, he could crawl his way to a bed or sofa or something, and then pass out. Passing out sounded wonderful. Freeing.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/pain
Series: Like tears in the rain [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950151
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Broken (But Still Good)

“Go ahead, Barry. Tell Alfred I’ll be up soon.”

Barry dithered for a minute. “You sure, man? Cause, if Alfred sent me down here, there’s a good chance he’s just going to send me down again when I don’t turn up with you, and that’s like, disappointing a Grandpa.”

Bruce huffed a laugh. “He won’t, Barry.”

Barry shrugged. “I’m telling him you said that. He gives me those sad disappointed English sighs and I’m eating you out of Cheetoes.” He sped off, at mostly human speed, up the stairs to the house proper.

Bruce hissed out a breath he’d been holding, and let his arms fall to the ground. The underside of the Batmobile hid him well from anyone seeing how white he was, or the sweat on his brow. Just an hour, maybe less, and the vicodine will kick in. Maybe, if he was lucky, the others will have left, he could crawl his way to a bed or sofa or something, and then pass out. Passing out sounded wonderful. Freeing.

Painless, if only for a short time.

He was drifting, meditating, eyes closed, when he heard the faint footfalls across the car park. Not Barry, then. Not Alfred, either, or Victor. He doubted it was Arthur.

“Bruce?”

He groaned silently. Diana. He had no hope of passing off his absence by pretending to fix the car. Opening his eyes only brought more of the pain to the front of his senses. “Diana, aren’t you supposed to be helping Alfred with dinner?” he asked, voice tight.

“I did,” she answered softly, crouched next to the front axis. “And dessert, and seeing everyone off. What’s wrong?”

“Hrm,” he grunted, bringing one arm up to the control box above his head. His shoulder screamed, but he managed. “Lost track of time,” Damn it, he’d put the screwdriver down somewhere – he must look like an idiot trying to open it without any tools.

“Bruce,” she scolded softly. “Come out, so we may talk.”

“Di, I would really like to just work on this in peace, to be honest. Not up for company.” All strictly true. He preferred working on the car alone, or with Alfred. He didn’t want company, including Alfred, to know why he was on the creeper, under a car that needed no repairs, with no tools.

“Hands down, Bruce. I’ll pull you out.”

Bruce sighed, dropping his arms. “Watch the sides. It’s a tight fit.” No point in arguing. No point locking the wheels and refusing. She’d only flip the car off him instead. He pulled in a deep breath, knowing that this was going to hurt.

It did. The first jar against the grating had his teeth on edge, and by the time he was half way out, he couldn’t stop the low groaning sob oozing out of his mouth. She stopped, a question forming, but he stopped her. “Just. Do. It,” he muttered, jaw clenched. The last two feet had stars exploding behind his eyes.

“Bruce,” she whispered, concern overriding exasperation. Gently, she stroked his hair back from his brow. “Breathe slowly, calm breathes.”

Bruce grimaced, eyes tightly closed. “I know, Diana. Not – not the first time I’ve been knocked down.”

“Why are you in so much pain, Bruce? Our missions together have been mild; I was not aware of any injuries amongst us.”

Bruce finally cracked his eyes open, seeing Diana kneeling beside him. “I told you, I can barely be Batman any more. I’m getting too old,” he said, voice raspy.

She shook her head, but let him continue.

“The rest of you are young, immortal, or just about close enough. This is the bill from reality, Diana.” He swallowed, and tried to continue. “Days my back locks up, or my knees give out. Some days it’s worse. Sometimes it’s bearable."

He missed her expression as another wave of agony shot up his spine, ricocheting around the back of his skull. The pressure migraine was getting worse – parts of his vision were whiting out.

“C-call Alfred,” he croaked, head turning away from the worker’s lamp on the car. A minute passed, but she continued to stroke his hair, gently down his temples. It felt nice, but another shot of painkillers and his bed would be nicer in the long run. “Di,” he moaned, cracking his eyes open.

“Alfred is making up the dark room as we speak, has your medications waiting, and has cancelled your morning meetings at WE,” she said softly. “He’ll text as soon as he’s ready for you.”

Bruce closed his eyes again, nodding faintly. Sometimes he forgot just how well she could multi task. He didn’t wonder about how she’d gotten Alfred’s number – no doubt the older gentleman had been in touch with her since everything started after Doomsday. Sinking into the pain, he tried to sink beneath it, tried to redirect his thoughts....

“Hold onto me,” Diana’s voice said from far above him, from far above the layer of pain he’d just sunk through. He was teetering on falling unconscious, dipping into oblivion with every breath. He couldn’t move, could barely even hear her, or feel himself being lifted. He wanted to warn her, make sure she wasn’t making Alfred carry some of his weight, but no.... That was Alfred’s quiet baritone, from much farther away. He must be giving directions....

The light dimmed in front of him, the bed beneath his back was cool to the touch. Ice water flowed into his veins, and misted in front of his face. Alfred’s voice was quiet against his pounding head. Long fingers traced his wrinkles and grey hairs across his temples and cheeks.

Another flush of coldness, and Bruce let his fingers unclench, letting go of the world for just a little while.


End file.
